


Cookie? No.

by Naemi



Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:55:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something about Zeke's relationship with his kitchen is oddly off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cookie? No.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlienSoulDream](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=AlienSoulDream).



> Alternate version of [Cookie? Oh.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/751902)  
> 

 

„Aren't you done yet?“

„Casey! Stop nudging!“

„What is taking you so long?“

„I'd have been back long ago if you just stopped calling me every five minutes. I'll be right there, okay?”

“Can you bring some cookies?”

Zeke let out a low growl. “Ca-sey!”

“I want chocolate cookies.”

“Fuck you.”

Zeke cut him off and threw his phone onto the passenger seat. Oh boy. That kid could be such a bugger.

“I want chocolate cookies,” he imitated Casey's voice. A bad try, but he wasn't to go for Herrington's best cute-boy impersonator competition: he was just annoyed. “I want this, I want that, I want chocolate cookies, pweeeeaaase. Oh Zeke, pweeease.” He snorted. “Yeah, go pwease yourself, Connor. You want cookies?”

He turned on the radio and sped up, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Fine. You'll get them.”

The cell rang once more. Zeke was tempted to just throw it out of the fucking window. He ignored it, turning the volume up instead. Elvis bawled his 'You're the devil in disguise,' and he had to chuckle. Oh fuck. Yeah.

He started to sing along loudly.

~ ~ ~

“Geez. Why don't you answer your phone?” Casey's voice shot at him from upstairs as Zeke just kicked the door shut behind him. He made his way into the kitchen, carefully balancing several bags and boxes filled with all that crap Casey had sent him to get.

“Why, was there an emergency?”

“And what if there was one?”

“Huh?” Zeke turned around quickly. Too quick: the top box bounced in a dangerous manner before it landed on the floor with a crack.

“Fuck. Case?”

The boy appeared in the doorframe. “Everything's fine. Just— _what if_?”

Zeke shook his head. He managed to put his errands on the counter without breaking more stuff and sighed heavily. “Casey. Don't do that ever again. Never ever.”

“Answer your phone next time, douchebag,” Casey replied and approached him. “It might happen I need you to transform into my knight in shining armor and come to my rescue.”

“As if. Go get me the mop. Eggs cracked.” Zeke knelt down beside the fallen box to sort out what else had gone to waste.

“Eggs?”

“Eggs. You know, it's what hen produce.”

Casey tsked.

Most of the groceries seemed all right, even three of the eggs had made it out alive, but the milk bottle was broken and the bags of flour and sugar were soaked and sticky with liquid. Zeke dumped them in the trash can and put the rest up on the counter.

“Wait—Cooking chocolate?”

“You wanted cookies.”

Casey stared at him with a blank expression.

“You. Wanted.”

“Cookies,” the boy blurted. “Fuck, Zeke. I wanted to _have_ cookies,” a small giggle escaped him, eyes sparkling with amusement, “not _make_ cookies.” He chuckled heartily now, interrupted by a little hiccup, upon which he only had to laugh even more.

“You mop. I'll ask the neighbors for some sugar and flour.”

“Jesus, Zeke. Do you even know how to make cookies?” Casey asked while finally getting the mop and a bucket from the broom closet and filling the latter with hot water and some dish liquid.

“Lil' blue plastic bag.” With that, Zeke was out of the backdoor, allowing the icy winter air to crawl inside before it was closed.

Casey went over to look for that specific bag. He found it quickly and once more laughed out heartily when it produced a small book reading _Cookies for dummies._ That was gonna be a _lot_ of fun.

Zeke wasn't back by the time Casey had cleaned the kitchen floor, so he decided to follow the wet and snowy footsteps Zeke had left throughout the house on his return earlier. Why he bothered so much with the kitchen floor being all clean while all the same the rest of the house had definitely not been acquainted with water and a mop for some time, Casey would never understand. Although the house was tidy altogether, the kitchen was special—overly clean and almost sterile. Always. No excuses. Casey remembered Zeke to even have cleaned and tidied up whilst there was a party going on. He had sent everyone _out of my fucking kitchen, if you don't wanna get hurt_ and when they were all gone to besiege the whole friggin' rest of the house, Zeke had handed him a dishtowel and told him to make himself useful.

The sound of the backdoor being opened brought Casey's thoughts back to here and now.

“Don't you dare!” he shouted. “It's not dry yet.”

“I can see that, Case.”

“Take your goddamned shoes off!”

“Yes, Mommy! Where's you?”

“Entrance.”

“Geez, did you have to clean all the house?”

Something heavy was being dropped on the floor; Casey hoped it was Zeke's shoes for he then heard him rummage through a drawer shortly afterwards and he surely didn't want to clean his way all through the kitchen just again.

“There's no need to play charwoman, babe. I won't pay for that.”

“You _will_ pay me.”

“How so?” Zeke appeared in the doorframe between living room and the small hallway as Casey just finished mopping.

“God, Zeke.”

“Got ma shoes off.”

“The floor is _wet_.”

“Yeah, I know.” Zeke smiled at the boy and moved closer. “You look cute with that mop. I _could_ imagine employing you. Would you mind wearing a skirt?”

“Ha,” Casey chuckled, “you'd like that, right?”

“I'd love it.”

Zeke was now within reach and Casey pulled him even closer until there would not have been space for a sheet of paper between the two of them. The boy let out a small purring sound when their hips met. He looked up, a happy smile on his face.

“I could so fuck you right into tomorrow,” Zeke whispered. “How about that for a payment?” He bent down and let his lips brush over Casey's, all so lightly, fingertips wandering along the boy's sides, ending up in a firm grip on his hips. Casey purred once more. His hands snuck under his boyfriend's sweater, mop falling down on the floor with a little bang.

This was Zeke's time to make a small sound of approval. “Got plenty to give,” he breathed.

“Zeke?”

“Yeah?”

“I want cookies.”

“Don't fuck with me _right now_.” Zeke's jaw tensed.

Casey's tongue flicked out and licked playfully at Zeke's lower lip. “Who said we couldn't combine one and the other?” The lick turned into a small bite.

Zeke held his breath. Screwing the kitchen—was that on his schedule? Fuck, no. He hated the thought. He hated _that room_.

Casey's hands crawled down until the waistband came into reach, at which he tugged lightly.

“Come on,” he teased. “You know you want me all chocolate covered.”

 _Oh-so-yummie,_ Zeke thought—and let go of Casey to take a step backwards.

“Can't do that.” He shook his head, eyes darkened.

“Why not? Is the kitchen some holy place that may not be dirtied with plain old sex?”

“Stop it, Case. I ain't making fun.” He placed a little kiss on Casey's forehead and turned away from him. “Excuse me for a sec,” he mumbled, then left toward the living room and up the stairs.

Casey kept staring until the footsteps were gone. _What on earth . . . ?_ he wondered. Zeke was one to be moody, that much granted, but this was ridiculous.

As he knew from experience that there'd be no use in pushing him right now, Casey decided to grant him some time alone and sort out whatever he had to deal with.

~ ~ ~

After having whiled away in front of some stupid 60's TV show, Casey had been trying his best to mix up some cookie dough and was just about to melt the chocolate when Zeke decided to show up again. He entered the room and went straight to the fridge, taking out a bottle of beer. He opened it, threw the cap in the trash can and turned around to face Casey.

“Hey,” he said almost shyly.

“Hey,” Casey replied, not looking up.

“Umm . . . I guess I need to apologize.”

“I guess you finally need to tell me why your kitchen lets you freak out about it so much.”

Zeke flinched a little. “I don't . . . freak out.”

“Mhmm.”

They stood in silence for a while, Zeke staring at the ceiling, taking little sips from his beer, Casey watching the chocolate become liquid.

“You know,” Zeke then started slowly, frowning, “I just—I don't like this place much.”

“As in?”

“As in 'I hate it'. A lot.”

Casey let out a small sigh and turned around to look at his boyfriend. “What is wrong with it?” he asked softly. Zeke shook his head, opened his mouth, closed it again.

“Don't dare say it was nothing.”

“I wasn't—”

“Shut up, Tyler. I know you.”

Zeke made a little snorting sound before he let his gaze meet Casey's.

“I was a kid, you know,” he eventually started with a shaky voice and fluttering lashes. “About seven or eight, maybe, I don't quite remember. My parents had this party going on . . . ” He took a deep breath. “At some point, late at night—” Zeke shuddered and wrapped his arms around his chest as if to warm himself.

“I—I was supposed to sleep. But the noise that came from down here—it just kept me wide awake. I decided to have a glass of water. When I entered the kitchen, I saw . . . _them_.”

Casey looked at him with concern. He made a quick step closer to his boyfriend and lightly touched his arm. “What happened?” he asked softly.

“They were all _sprawled_ over the whole place,” Zeke replied, tears choking him now. “Fucking like rabbits. And my Mom was right on that table. Panting. Grunting even. Skirt up to her ears, man, I swear. And who ever was . . . _doing_ her, it was _not_ my dad. So. Disgusting.”

Casey nodded in silent comprehension.

“The whole place felt damp and sticky and so _fucked_.”

“It was a shock.”

“Could say.”

“Maybe,” Casey whispered, placing tender kisses on each of Zeke's fingertips as he spoke, “it's time to move on. Maybe I can help you create new memories to linger.” He smiled up at him and led his boyfriend's hand to lay on his chest.

Casey's heartbeat was calming and comforting. Zeke closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath. Kitchens _were_ bad, but with Casey around, everything seemed easier; he'd probably be all right.

“Case? Can I have some chocolate?”

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful HoneyAndVinegar, who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> _Feedback is love._


End file.
